


A Piece of Your History

by littlebluecaboose



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Intersex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Project AHO, Slow Burn, references to slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebluecaboose/pseuds/littlebluecaboose
Summary: Miraak did not expect the Last Dragonborn to want to save him. And he certainly did not expect to be treated as an ally, as a friend, as a lover.(tags and rating subject to change if/when they're needed)





	1. At The Summit

**Author's Note:**

> I have never successfully done anything multi-chapter before, but I do love these boys, and Miraak is criminally under-loved. There will be references to a couple of mods in this piece, which I'll link in the end notes as they come up. 
> 
> Special shoutout to Illumancer over on Tumblr, whose awesome Miraak art made me consider him as a potential follower/love interest.

Miraak’s plan had not gone terribly well. He had been able to defeat this elf so easily before, but he must have been caught off guard. The elf, the last dragonborn, was faster than Miraak had expected, light on his feet, and a wicked shot with his bow. 

He dodges an arrow, feeling it streak through the air not far from him. He’s frowning, thinking that he needs to pin the elf down soon, as he absentmindedly steps in the shallow pool of oily liquid at the center of his tower.

A mistake. 

He knew, already, that Hermaeus Mora had long since grown dissatisfied with him. But it’s entirely different to feel a thick, sturdy tentacle rise from the water and grab his ankle. He barely has time to yell in surprise before others rise from the water, grabbing his limbs, wrapping tight around his torso. He tries to squirm, but it’s useless. Hermaeus Mora is not going to kill him quickly, but he can feel the tentacles slowly tightening around his torso. He stops struggling and focuses on breathing while he still can.

Over the pounding of blood in his ears, he can hear the elf yell. All he can see is the horrible, eternally dark sky of Apocrypha. He hears footsteps hastily approach, and thenー the tentacles shift, slightly. He feels a hand press against his arm, and realizes that the elf is trying to pry the tentacles off of him. A kind gesture, if a foolish one. 

“Stop it. Stop it!” The elf stops grabbing at the tentacles, but he keeps one hand pressed to a part of Miraak’s arm not yet consumed by the tentacles. Miraak wishes he could find enough air to speak, to tell the elf to flee before Hermaeus Mora traps him, too.

“Do you campaign like this for every foe you slay?” Hermaeus Mora’s voice makes Miraak’s skin crawl, even if Miraak is half inclined to agree with him.

“No. But... He lost! Stop it, already! This wasn’t what I came here for.”

“And tell me, little Dragonborn, what  _ did _ you come here for?”

The elf presses his fingers in more tightly against Miraak’s arm. Miraak wonders which of them the elf is trying to comfort. He also wonders how long he has before his ribs start to crack.

“I came here to make sure that the people of Solstheim will be safe. He... He doesn’t have to  _ die _ for that! And... I could use the help of a Dragonborn who knows what he’s actually doing.”

Miraak blinks up at the sky in surprise. He can still feel Hermaeus Mora crushing him, but there’s another feeling in his gut. One he immediately tries to quash. There is no point in getting his hopes up. He’s misunderstood what the elf meant. Or, if he did hear right, the elf’s plan will never work.

Hermaeus Mora seems confused, too.

“You want... to claim your professed enemy as....an ally?”

“The only reason he was hurting people was to get out of here. That’s what I want. Both of us, free from Apocrypha. Forever.”

Miraak would think the elf entirely too cocky if not for the feeling of fingers digging into his arm. He’s making a hell of a gamble, and it’s the elf who’ll pay if it doesn’t work out. Miraak is already a dead man walking. Or dangling, he supposes.

“Quite the demand you make, mortal. What do you think you have to offer me for such a favor?”

“I can show you. But put him down first.”

There’s a long moment of stewing silence. Miraak has gotten used to Hermaeus Mora’s moods, over the long years, and right now, he is  _ angry _ .

“I have things in my pack. And if you decide it’s not good enough, it’s not like I can fight you  _ here _ .”

“Hmm.... Very well.”

Miraak is unceremoniously released. He had been far enough off the ground that he’s winded when he hits the ground. Oily liquid splashes up around him, soaking his robes. He looks up at the elf. He’s a bit bloody, dirty blond hair falling out of the bun he’s put it in. Up close, and while not fighting him, Miraak would swear the elf has small hornsー antlers? He looks worried, but gives Miraak a small nod before crossing the platform to the backpack he’d tossed to the ground at the start of their fight. Hermaeus Mora watches the elf closely, but doesn’t make any move to strike. 

The elf evidently finds whatever he wanted to offer to the Prince, pulling a hand-sized cube from his pack. He brings his pack back over to Miraak before holding it up to Hermaeus Mora. Another pointless gesture of solidarity. Useless, in the face of a Daedric Prince. But Miraak appreciates it anyway. 

The elf holds up the cube with a shaky, outstretched hand. A single tentacle reaches down from the mass of Hermaeus Mora, snatching the cube away. 

“Ahh.... Bkhalzarf. The secrets of Project AHO have remained....hidden to me. How convenient for you.”

“I have.. Maybe 25 of those cubes,” the elf says, sounding more confident, now that he knows he has ground to stand on. Miraak keeps struggling to tamp down on the hope that insists on flickering to life within him. This is not going to work.

“I do not want your....cubes. However... Long ago, I sent a Seeker to bring the secrets of that place to me. It has been imprisoned in a Dwemer stasis chamber for...many long years. Free it, and I will consider... _ this _ business settled.”

Miraak knows that tone of voice. Hermaeus Mora expects, perhaps correctly, that the elf will return someday. He has seen the secrets held in Apocrypha; he will have to return some day. The elf does not seem tempted. There is still fear written plain on his face, but his body is tensed and confident. Miraak made the mistake of underestimating the elf. Maybe Hermaeus Mora will do the same.

“Fine. I have... unfinished business there, anyway. I will free the Seeker, and in return, you will allow me to leave here with Miraak, and leave both of us alone. Forever.”

Hermaeus Mora shifts, almost looking like he’s shaking his head.

“I wonder that you would want a useless, failed creature like him.”

The elf looks down at Miraak, and there is no malice in his face. Concern, exhaustion, fear, yes. But Miraak trustsー or at least hopesー that the elf has his best interests at heart.

“If he’s worth so little to you, then it should not be a great sacrifice to let him go.”

Hermaeus Mora clearly dislikes this. He is still angry, suddenly championless, being forced to make a deal just to get something out of it at all. He has realized, apparently, that the elf is not likely to be tempted into willing servitude. The thought almost makes Miraak smile. Hermaeus Mora hasー well, he hasn’t lost, but he certainly hasn’t come in first.

“Fine. Begone from this place. And do not think of breaking your side of our deal.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The elf stares up at Hermaeus Mora until the mass of eyes and swirling darkness fades, the Prince’s attentions turned elsewhere. As soon as he’s gone, the elf exhales forcefully, shoulders slumping as the tension leaves his body.

He drops to his knees next to Miraak. He is smaller that Miraak had expected him to be up close, shorter than most elves Miraak has met. But he supposes elves have changed quite a bit since his day.

“Are you alright?”

“I am better than I have been in several thousand years. You have done me a great kindness, Dragonborn.”

“My name is Falkar,” the elf mutters, checking over Miraak’s robes, making sure he isn’t too badly wounded. Miraak feels alright, more bothered by the fact that his robes are damn than anything else.

“I would be happy to talk more of your plans for me, Falkar, but... I would rather not do it here.” Miraak punctuates his words with a sweeping gesture at the miserably dreary landscape of Apocrypha. Falkar nods, sitting back on his heels. He reaches for his pack again, fishing out a Black Book. It looks almost comically large in his hands. He sets it between them, pulling his backpack back on. He holds out a hand to Miraak.

Miraak takes it.

The elf opens the Black Book, and they are both dragged back to Nirn.


	2. Snowblind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow! Ash! Miraak being confused by everything!
> 
> Also, some allusions to completely random bits of lore. This will continue to happen. I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever update this again, it will be a miracle. If I ever update twice in one day again like this, it will be because I was possessed by a more competent writer.

The wind on Solstheim is bitter, and it’s the first thing Miraak feels. He is still soaked, and the wind leaves him feeling utterly chilled. It takes him a moment to realize where they are, as he squints into the brightness of the real world. The structures he had commanded built around the Tree Stone have fallen apart, the people working on them already scattered.

There is a fresh new layer of snow coating everything, and even with the clouds the cover the entire sky, it is _bright_. And very cold. He smells the faintly metallic scent of snow, the familiar smell of pines carried on the wind, the unfamiliar scent of...burning? Ash? Not a forest fire. And not close.

Falkar is still holding his hand. The book has not come with them.

“Oh. I’m glad that’s over,” Falkar says, gently pulling his hand loose and rubbing at his eyes.

“That makes both of us.” The snow is colder and wetter than the pool Miraak had been sitting in earlier, but it’s familiar. There is an undefinable _rightness_ about Nirn that he can only understand in comparison to the wrongness of Apocrypha. He looks up at the sky, watching as the clouds move. He has missed clouds more than he realized.

He stares into space for a long time, relishing his freedom, the simple experience of being out of Apocrypha. He doesn’t know how long he just sits there, taking in everything around him, before Falkar rests a hand on his knee.

“We need to get out of this cold.”

Miraak looks down at the elf. He’d hardly noticed that it was cold at all, but he supposes that not everyone is used to this sort of weather.

“Yes,” he settles on saying. He’s not sure where he stands with Falkar. He looks innocent and kind, certainly, but it could easily be a trick, waiting for Miraak to let his guard down. He will not put himself at risk until he knows what sort of man Falkar is. Falkar is frowning, turning to rummage once more through his things.

“You can’t go into any town in Solstheim looking like that. Once we’re back in Skyrim, it’ll probably be okay, but up here... everyone will recognize you.” Falkar pulls out a folded, dark green cloak, and a set of hooded brown robes.

“We’ll get you better geared up once we’re somewhere that you can... actually buy stuff, but there’s nowhere to get much of anything up here.” He hands the neatly folded clothes to Miraak, then pointedly turns to busy himself with re-organizing his things. Miraak understands that he’s being offered privacy while he makes himself less conspicuous.

He is more than happy to change out of his soaked robes, tattered as they are from all the years in Apocrypha. The cloak does not do much against the cold windー probably why Falkar had it in his pack, rather than wearing it himselfー but there’s still enough novelty in the cold for Miraak that he doesn’t mind too much. The hood on the robes is nice, big enough to drape over his face a bit.

But all of this will be useless if he doesn’t take off his mask. He hadn’t removed it for years, even before he went to Apocrypha. He has no idea what he even looks like any more. Terrible, probably. He reluctantly pulls the mask off.

The cold air hits his face and nearly steals his breath away. He sniffs as his eyes and nose start to run in response to the cold. He’s beginning to feel the discomfort of it, and respects Falkar’s desire to get out of the weather.

He folds his mask into his robes and kneels next to Falkar again. He feels incredibly exposed as Falkar looks him up and down, peering up at his face with a worried expression.

“Well, you look...a bit ill, but...nothing too bad. Let’s go, then?”

“Lead the way.”

Falkar leads him down the long, sloping hills of Solstheim. He doesn’t make much in the way of conversation, and Miraak doesn’t want to disturb Falkar if he’s in a bad mood. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Falkar has his shoulders hunched against the wind, the hood of his fur poncho pulled up over his head. He looks miserable, Miraak thinks. Although he could still just be mad.

Miraak begins to get nervous as they start to climb a hill with columns of smoke rising from it. They’re going to the Skaal. He tenses, keeping a hand on his sword. He can’t take all the Skaal at once, not when he’s already been caught in such a stalemate with Falkar once today. One more person would have tipped the balance in Falkar’s favor, much less a whole village of them.

As they enter the village, a young woman with blonde hair and heavy armor comes running up to them, hesitating when she sees Miraak behind Falkar.

“I can feel it. The Tree Stone is free again. The Oneness of the land is restored. Does that mean... is it over? Is Miraak defeated?” She takes Falkar by the shoulders as she speaks. Miraak adjusts his hood, presumably against the wind, but mostly hoping that the woman won’t notice him.

Falkar nods.

“He won’t cause you any more trouble, Frea,” he tells her. They seem evenly matched in earnestness.

“Then... My father’s sacrifice was worth it?”

Falkar sighs.

“Without him, I would never have reached Miraak at all. I regret that it had to happen. But... it was Hermaeus Mora who killed him.”

Frea nods solemnly, dropping her hands from Falkar’s shoulders.

“I know. The Skaal will not forget this. Storn's death will become another of the many tales of Herma-Mora's treachery.” She looks over Falkar’s head to peer at Miraak. Her eyes are piercing, and he can’t help but feel she knows exactly who he is, as silly as it is. “And... your new friend, here?”

“I found him in Hermaeus Mora’s realm, trapped, and got him out. I plan to take him home to Skryim,” Falkar says. Miraak is impressed with how clever he is, how quickly he thinks to bluff, telling half of the truth rather than outright lying.

“Do you have a name... friend?” The sarcasm dripping from Frea’s words is not lost on Miraak.

“Ahzid,” he tells her. A lie, in the truest sense of the world. But by the ancient customs of naming, it may as well be his name.

“Well, Ahzid,” Frea says, “Do not think for one second of causing harm to Falkar. He is Skaal-friend. We will not forget the aid he has given us, and we will not forget it if someone causes harm to him.”

Miraak nods, glancing at the back of Falkar’s head. There’s a little pouf of fur at the pointed end of his hood, and it feels a little absurd to have all these changes in his life coming at the hands of a person who wears a poncho with a little pompom on the hood. But Falkar has been, at least for now, good to him.

“I do not intend him any harm.”

Frea squints at him, and he resolves not to speak much more than is absolutely required of him. Many of these people may have heard his voice already.

“Good. Walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend. And be wary of the tricks of Herma-Mora.”

“I will be. Thank you, Frea. May Y’ffre’s song bring you warm days,” Falkar responds.

Miraak knows of the All-Maker. He knows the old ways of the ancient Nords, from when they were not _old_ ways but simply _the_ way. He has never heard of Y’ffre, but supposes it must be Falkar’s deity. A trading of blessings, from one religion to another.

Frea nods, and steps away, quickly pulled into conversation with one of the other Skaal.

“I wanted to make sure they knew,” Falkar quietly explains. He pulls out a scroll on paper that is heavily yellowed with age. He reaches a hand outー or up, really, given how short he isー for Miraak again, and Miraak takes it. Falkar tries to open the scroll with one hand, and, after watching him struggle for a moment, Miraak reaches down to help him unbind it. Falkar recites the incantation on the scroll, and the Skaal village vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only mod worth mentioning for this chapter is Frostfall, which explains a lot of the preoccupation that Falkar has about being too cold.
> 
> Frostfall: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/671
> 
> The name Miraak gives Frea literally translates to "bitter" in the Dragon Language, as opposed to his real name, which means "allegiance guide". This concludes your daily dose of trivia from UESP.


	3. Ash Yams and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miraak continues to not know what's going on, but continues to be a real trooper. Author continues to write primarily dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those of you who left nice comments! I wasn't sure if I'd continue this-- didn't want to be yelling into an empty void. It really means a lot to me. <3
> 
> Also, I wanted to drop a quick shoutout to imperfectkreis, whose fics you may have already read on here, but if not, I highly recommend them. They're a huge inspiration to me for the concept of writing this kind of long-form Skyrim fic to begin with, and have a truly beautiful writing style. 
> 
> This chapter is about as long as the past two combined. Whoops. There wasn't a satisfying place I could find to break this into two chapters, but honestly, who reads just one chapter of a fanfiction at a time? Let's be real.

There is a moment of darkness, a moment where all Miraak feels is Falkar’s hand. Then, there is a lot of grey. Greyish light, grey ceiling, grey floor. There’s a faint scent of decay, underneath the overwhelming scent of incense. He looks around the chamber, wondering where they’ve teleported to. Near the back of the chamber, he sees a set of three small columns. He recognizes the overall look of religious iconography, but he has no idea what the images are of. He thinks one might be Azura, but it’s hard to tell. It looks like she might have been painted on over something else. Curious.

There’s one of those odd, blue-skinned elves arranging bones in an ash-filled pit at the center of the chamber. He greets Falkar with a curt nod. Miraak makes a mental note to ask Falkar what, exactly, is going on with the blue elves. He has a lot of questions, actually. Maybe he should ask for a piece of paper to start writing them all down.

Falkar gently tugs at Miraak’s hand before dropping it, heading towards the arched door out of the building. Chapel? Temple? Tomb? Whatever it is, Miraak won’t complain about getting outside, getting out of the oddly claustrophobic building and the spicy smell of incense. The door opens into what looks, at first glance, like a mildly charming port town. An odd mix of what Miraak recognizes as normal buildings, all stone and wood, and a number of oddly bug-like structures. In the distance, far across the water, a plume of smoke rises from an imposing mountain, even from this distance.

“Welcome to Raven Rock,” Falkar says, and there’s a faint edge of sarcasm to his voice.

“It’s... Lovely?” The town is small, and the people walking around it  look shabby and tired. The common people, evidently, are much the same as they were several thousand years ago. But the sun is starting to set, and the ash in the airー likely from that distant mountainー catches the light, making the redness in the sky all the brighter, leaving bright dashes of blood red light on the sea. 

It is, in fact, almost lovely. 

Falkar laughs. “It’s not horrible. We’ll stay the night here, and take the boat back to Skyrim in the morning.”

Falkar leads him to one of the buglike structures. The inside still smells faintly musky, faintly humid, but it’s tolerable, unlike the thick scent of incense from the temple. Down the stairs, there’s chattering voices and the achingly nostalgic smells of food and alcohol. Falkar approaches the counter confidently, glancing back as Miraak as he does.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, one hand resting delicately on the wooden bartop. The question gives Miraak pause. He hasn’t eaten in a very long time. Hadn’t needed to, in Apocrypha. But... yes. He thinks he is hungry. Between the fighting earlier and the walk to the Skaal village, he could certainly go for something to eat. And, besides, whatever else he has become, he is still a Nord. 

He nods at Falkar. He’s still nervous to speak. How many of these people have heard his voice in their dreams? They will probably know him immediately. Falkar seems to notice his discomfortー he must be making a faceー and pats him gently on the arm.

“I can handle this, go ahead and find us a table.”

Miraak is grateful for the excuse to get out of the light, get out of any chance of conversation. He turns, and finds a table against the wall, as far out of the way as possible. He sits, watching as Falkar finishes talking with the owner of the establishment. He’s still uncomfortable, but he’s moderately certain nobody will talk to him here. He hears Falkar laugh at something, then he turns, glancing about the room before he sees Miraak, hunched in the corner. 

He’s glad to sit down, even if the table is entirely too small for him, built for the size of the blue elves and their smaller frames. Falkar joins him, giving Miraak a polite smile as he sits.

“So. I’m sure you have questions about... everything. I’m happy to tell you anything you might you want to know,” Falkar says, leaning across the table. The low light makes his eyes glint slightly, the greenish reflect not quite covering up the mismatched color. 

“But,” he says, pausing and tilting his head towards the rest of the room, “We’ll have more time to talk in private, if you have more, uh, sensitive questions.”

Miraak stares at Falkar. What does he want to know? And, more importantly, what can he ask where people can hear him? He’s surprised that Falkar would even consider that others would eavesdrop. He seems incredibly innocent, although perhaps Miraak has been fooled by his wide eyes and short stature.

Miraak stares at the table, trying to decide what to ask. A woman comes and brings them food. He hears Falkar thank her, and murmurs thanks as well. What if this is another test? If he picks the wrong question...

Falkar waves a hand in front of his face, leaning across the table to do so.

“Hello? Are you still in there?” Falkar is smiling at him. He has a pleasant smile, the sort of smile you can easily trust.

“Ahー Yes,” Miraak says. He turns his attention to his food, partly stalling for time, and partly because it’s been entirely too long since he indulged in such simple, normal,  _ human _ things as eating. He recognizes meatー horker, he thinksー, and some sort of starchy vegetable that’s been turned into a flat, orange patty and cooked. Falkar is eating something off a bone, evidently engrossed in his meal, as well.

They eat mostly in silence. There’s not much small talk to be made between them, and Miraak doesn’t want to ask his many questions while Falkar is gnawing bits of sinew off of a bone. It’s a bit impressive. He leaves the bones almost entirely clean, slightly discolored from cooking, but otherwise devoid of meat. Miraak can’t say he knows what, exactly, the vegetable things are, but they’re not bad, and more importantly, not poisonous.

He decides that maybe that’s a good, non-threatening first question.

“Do you know what these are made of?”

Falkar shakes his head. “I don’t... actually eat plants. Um, but I think they’re called... ash potatoes?” He pauses. “Ash yams,” he corrects himself.

The ash part doesn’t sound appetizing, but potatoes are not unfamiliar. However, that’s far from the most interesting thing that Falkar had said.

“You don’t eat plants?” Miraak wonders if maybe he misheard.

Falkar looks embarrassed.

“No,” he says, fingers nervously fidgeting atop the table. “It’s... part of my religion. The Bosmer religion, overall. To harm any plant in Valenwood would be a grievous sin against Y’ffre, so we’re out of the habit of consuming anything plant-based. I... I tried, when I first got to Skyrim. Just alcohol, and some soup, to try and keep the cold off. But it made me so sick, it wasn’t worth it.” He’s looking down. Miraak wonders if he’s been made fun of for his odd dietary habits before. He wonders why Falkar, who is really the one in charge here, is so worried about what Miraak thinks of him.

“Huh. Well, I think that... I am in no position to make any comments about what others do for their religion,” he says, trying to smile. Trying to remember what a normal, friendly smile looks like. He thinks his lips might be chapped, because it hurts.

There’s a pause, where Falkar looks up at him, confused for just a moment. Miraak wonders if his bad attempt at a joke has offended Falkar, if he’s accidentally insinuated something awful. But then Falkar’s face breaks into a grin as he chuckles into his hand. Miraak smiles a bit more naturally. He finishes his last ash yam cake, and while they’re in silence once more, it’s a far more comfortable silence.

Falkar speaks up again.

“Would you feel more comfortable speaking in private?”

Miraak nods. “I don’t like being listened to.” He’s spent too many thousands of years with no privacy to speak of. He wouldn’t mind not being eavesdropped on, for once.

“Alright,” Falkar says, and stands. “I have a room I’ve rented several times, here. There’s two beds, we should be perfectly cozy.”

He leads Miraak down the hallway a bit, into a simply outfitted room. Two beds, a small table with a lantern on it, and a closet. There’s a few books on the bedside table. Light reading of some sort, Miraak supposes. He’s pretty sure he’s already read the books before, even without looking at them. He’s had plenty of time to kill. He’s read most books.

Falkar plops down on the bed furthest in, and Miraak tries not to read too much into it. But he does anyway. It’s a hell of a show of trust, giving Miraak such an easy out. Maybe he knows there’s nowhere to run. Or is it tactical cunning, leaving Miraak where he’ll be the easiest target if assailants come in the night?

He sighs, closing the door behind him, and sits down. It’s not worth overthinking. Falkar’s motivations are more or less a moot point. The bed is thickly covered in furs, and is far more comfortable than the chairs outside. Falkar is taking off bits of armor, setting aside his pack and weapon, and pulling off his boots. He’s left in thick, fur-lined leggings and a long-sleeved shirt that looks similarly insulated, sitting cross legged on the bed. Miraak takes the cue to pull of his own bootsー still a little damp from his dip in Apocrypha, and damn, if that doesn’t feel a lifetime ago, nowー and settle in a bit more comfortably.

“So,” Falkar says, leaning over his knees like he’s a child telling ghost stories around the campfire at Saturalia, “What do you want to know?”

Miraak frowns. He’s had plenty of time to think, and he’s still coming up blank on what would be the most important question to ask. He may as well just ask any question.

“What are we doing? What is in Bkhalzarf that is so important? What are those cubes, that Hermー that  _ he _ would want them?”

Falkar pulls one of the cubes out of his bag and tosses it to Miraak. It’s cool to the touch, runes engraved on the surface. He turns it in his hands, finds it symmetrical on all sides. The runes glow with a faint, pinkish light.

“They’re for use with a Dwemer... thing. A printing press of some sort, that can create spell manuals from nothing. Or, from just one of these. The right cubes for the school of magic you want, and you can learn any spell you want. I was hoping he hadn’t... gotten anything from there yet. I guess it was pretty well sealed.”

Miraak nods, still studying the cube in his hands. It’s kind of pretty, in a way. If you were the sort of person who likes putting things on shelves just to look nice. 

“And he wants this knowledge simply because it has been kept from him. It makes sense.”

“Right. And I... needed to go there anyway.”

Falkar’s voice is suddenly quiet, nervous. Miraak looks up and sees that Falkar is looking away, fear on his face, gripping the furs under him tightly.

“Why?”

Falkar sighs.

“It’s a long story, and I don’tー You don’t really care, it’s not that important. I have... unfinished business in the settlement above Bkhalzarf. That’s the important part.” He looks like he’s scared. He doesn’t sound like he believes what he’s saying. He’s trying to be brave, sounding like he did when staring down Hermaeus Mora, but Miraak can clearly see his fear. Miraak is not good at leaving information uncovered. There is a reason he served Hermaeus Mora so long. He likes to know things. And, frankly, he would like it if Falkar stopped looking so terrified.

“I would like to know, if you are willing to tell me.” He’s still holding the cube, absentmindedly turning it in his hands. The metal has not changed temperature, even in his warm hands.

Falkar sighs, pulling his hands into his lap.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Miraak says, trying to keep his voice gentle.

Falkar sighs again.

“When you cast me out of Apocrypha, I fled. I didn’t want to be Dragonborn in the first place, and I thought... You know, it wouldn’t be terrible if you just took over. I still sort of think that,” he starts. Miraak isn’t sure where he’s going with this, but he makes a mental note to ask about the taking over thing later.

“I went back to Skyrim, tried to just fade away. But this orc came to me, asked me for help with someー some stupid thing with Malacath, I don’t even rememberー but of course, I said yes, I would help him. And he... he knocked me unconscious and took me as a slave.” Falkar sniffles, blinking rapidly to keep tears at bay, Miraak presumes. His heart aches, unexpectedly, for the young Dragonborn. Falkar has already, in not even a full day, shown himself to have a good heart, the sort of earnest, kind demeanor that Miraak has found to be incredibly rare. To take advantage of that seems, to Miraak, unbelievably cruel. 

“I was lucky. Most of the slaves, they get their tongues cut out. But I had to clean up horrible, horrible experiments. Iー They made me do horrible things. Selthri made me do horrible things. And I got freed on complete accident. I was trying to keep my head down, just doing anything anyone told me to do.” He’s wringing his hands together. Miraak notes the nameー Selthri. Definitely going on Miraak’s informal list of People To Hate. Not in the number one slot, of course, but likely in the top five. 

“I guess I angered Selthri. He threw me out, someone gave me my things back, begged me to help them with something, and I justー I realized I had to face my fate.” Falkar finally looks up. Miraak is getting used to this facial expression on Falkar. Watery, fearful eyes; brows knit anxiously together; but a steely set to his jaw and mouth. Resolved.

“You were more pressing. Because I hoped that, maybe, I would find an ally in you. But now I need to return to the settlementー to Sadrith Kagranー and I need to handle things. We’ll run this errand, of course. But I can’t leave this undone.”

Miraak nods. He’s surprised by Falkar’s assertion that he had wanted this outcome all along. But he’s not sure he’s in a position to start prying just yet. Falkar had been so shy when asked about his religion, about himself. When laying out plans and goals, though, his presence seems to swell with confidence. Miraak’s questions about Y’ffre can wait for a later date. He’s content to stick to planning, too. He likes having a course of action to follow.

“And after we handle the slavers and the Dwemer?” He doesn’t want to ask directly about the dragons, in case it’s a sore subject, but it is still a concern. The two of them were made to do one thing and one thing alone, and there are plenty of dragons that need to face their permanent deaths.

“I guess I need to go back to the Greybeards. And Delphine.” Falkar makes a face. “Oh, no. I was supposed to meet up with her in Riverwood after I got back from Kynesgrove, but I was taken on my way back, and then I was so close to Windhelm to come up hereー We’ll have to send her a note.”

Miraak nods slowly, pretending he has any idea what Falkar is talking about. He doesn’t try to keep the confused, blank expression off his face, and Falkar evidently notices.

“Both Delphine and the Greybeards are trying to deal with the dragons. I feel a lot better about our odds, now, but Iー I don’t think either of us can put our efforts fully behind stopping the dragons if we have... things hanging over our heads.” He looks a little nervous, still. Like he’s worried his plan isn’t good enough. Looking for approval, perhaps, to deal with their personal issues before stopping Alduin.

Miraak nods again. “I think that makes sense. And if this... Sadrith Kagran?” ーFalkar nodsー “Is on the way to wherever you’re going, then I think that makes perfect sense.”

Falkar looks relieved as Miraak speaks, smiling, and stretching his arms.

“So, that’s the plan for now, I guess. Is there more you wanted to know now? We can talk on the boat, tomorrow, too. It’s a long and very boring ride.” Falkar speaks with the confidence and authority of someone who has taken the journey multiple times already.

And of course there’s more that Miraak wants to know. But he has a plan of action, a slowly crystallizing sense of what Falkar wants of him. The other questions can wait, for the boat ride, for the travel across Skryim, which Miraak assumes is the same expansive size as it ever was. 

Now, he is tired, and based on the way Falkar is shifting, he is too. He is looking forward to actually sleeping. To the simple normality of needing sleep and being able to fill that need.

He shakes his head.

“I will save my other questions to fill the journey to Skryim.”

Falkar smiles.

“Alright,” he says, voice soft. “I guess I’m... going to bed, then. The boat leaves early, don’t stay up too late.”

Miraak watches Falkar turn away, curling up with his back to the door, bundling himself underneath the furs.

He stands, casting a quick warding enchantment on the door. It’s locked, but he feels safer with a spell in place as well. He pulls off most of his borrowed robes until he’s only in the loose trousers from underneath them, and climbs into bed as well. 

He lays on his back, but turns his head to glance at Falkar, who has more or less become one with the furs. The pile slowly rises and falls with Falkar’s breath, like some odd patchwork animal, hibernating the winter away. The absurd thought makes Miraak smile. Now that he is laying down, his body is suddenly aware of how badly he aches, how tired he is. It has been a very long day. An even longer few millennia. He props himself on his elbow to blow out the lamp, and lets sleep take him in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More lore! More explanations of what's going on with the mod content. I know I'm breaking a lot from stuff that people are familiar with from Skyrim, and this is entirely un-beta'd, so please don't hesitate to let me know if something is really baffling to you, and I'll make sure it makes it in. Miraak and Falkar do a lot of traveling and talking about things, so it's always possible I'm planning to bring it up anyway, but drop me a comment, and I'm sure it'll come up eventually.
> 
> Mod of note for this chapter is Realistic Needs and Diseases: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/3487, which is to thank for me remembering that people actually need to eat and sleep in the real world, and would probably need to do that in Skyrim, too.
> 
> Reminder that you can find me on tumblr at littlebluecaboose.tumblr.com


	4. Wine-Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally arrive in Skyrim, and Miraak finally gets some clarification on what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda short, but I'm already working on the next chapter, which will have a bit more meat to it.

Miraak’s sleep is, thankfully, dreamless. He wakes and is confused for a moment, at the greyish shell above him, the faint smell of fire, the sound of quiet voices. As he comes to consciousness, he remembers the events of the previous day, and turns in bed to check if Falkar is still there.

He is.  Or, at least, there’s a small lump under the furs in the other bed. Miraak thinks he might see a little bit of blonde hair poking out, though. 

Miraak tries to get dressed quietly, but Falkar must be a light sleeper, because he starts to stir, emerging from his pile of furs. His hair is a mess, and he pulls it into a bun, yawning as he does.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Miraak apologizes.

Falkar gives a vague wave of his hand as he pulls on his boots.

“No worries! We needed to get moving early,anyway. I hate being in Windhelm at night. It’s just.... Miserable.” He shivers, and Miraak isn’t sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because the little elf is actually cold. He certainly isn’t built like a Nord, designed to withstand the cold weather. “The name’s not an exaggeration. The wind there is horrible.”

Miraak looks away and smiles. Falkar seems oddly genuine; surprisingly so, after so many miserable years in Oblivion. But he’ll keep at least some of his guard up, for now.  He looks up as Falkar checks his things. He nods, seemingly content that nothing has gone missing in the night. 

“Well, back to Skyrim, I guess,” Falkar says, giving Miraak a small smile. Miraak follows him out of the room, out from the underground tavern, out into the early Raven Rock morning. The sun is just crossing the horizon, turning the snow and ash pink and orange, casting streaks of color in the dark, freezing sea.

Miraak is still reveling in the familiar freezing bite of his homeland, the smell of frost in the air, the colors and brightness, even as he watches Falkar hunch miserably against the sea breeze. Falkar leads him down to the docks, out to a low wooden boat. He speaks with the person who must be the captain, and they’re off before too long. The boat’s crew seems to be mostly Nords, but, thankfully, they seem to be too tired to try and engage Miraak in any conversation.

They set off across the waves, and Falkar quickly settles himself against the edge of the ship, huddled up where the wind is the least fierce. Miraak sits beside him, blocking the wind on at least one side. Falkar leans slightly towards him, drawn to the heat, perhaps, or simply to hear him better.

“So,” Falkar says, raising his voice over the sound of wind and waves, “Did you have more questions for me?”

Miraak has been thinking more, and his most pressing question is: “What is going on with the elves?”

Falkar makes a face, like he’s trying not to laugh at Miraak, but Miraak is serious. There’s the greyish-blue elves that had covered Solstheim, for one thing. And then, of course, there’s his fellow Dragonborn, who looks a bit like an Altmer crossed with some sort of deer. Falkar, with seemingly great effort, manages to make a more appropriate face.

“Which elves”

“All of them, preferably. All I know about the world right now is that there's dragons again.”

Falkar laughs and pulls a roll of parchment from his bag. He unrolls it on the deck and Miraak sees that it's a map Skyrim on one side, all of Tamriel on the other. he notes that Atmora isn't included. Skyrim is as far north as it goes. Falkar has to hold it down to keep it from rolling up and blowing away. Miraak gently nudges his near hand, taking over on holding down half the map.

“Thanks,” Falkar say,s his hand now free to point out parts of the world. “Well, the people on Solstheim are the Dunmer. They're actually from Morrowind, but it's not that far so some of them moved.” Falkar points out the islands as he speaks. Miraak has a name for them, now but he still has no idea where, exactly, they came from. A question for later, or something he might be able to find in a book. Falkar leans into Miraak’s space to point to a territory labeled Valenwood.

“This is where my people, the Bosmer, are from. Iー I don't want you to bore you with all of our history, but that's... that's us.” He stays leaning towards Miraak, pointing out other areas. He doesn't make mention of two groups, though.

“What about the Chimer and the Dwemer?”

“Theー the what?” Falkar blinks up at Miraak, those big, elven eyes, one brown, one green, with seemingly not a trace of malice or mockery. “I mean, I know what the Dwemer are, but they're gone. And I've never even heard of the Chimer before. Or... I have, but it was in some esoteric religious thing. I didn't understand a word of it.” 

“You never seen one of the Chimer? The golden elves?” Miraak is flabbergasted. 

Falkar shakes his head, confused. “The Altmer are... kind of yellow, I guess?”

“No, that isn't it. But what's this about the Dwemer being  _ gone _ ?” Miraak wonders if he's misheard, because it’s just... entirely too ridiculous to be true.

Falkar shrugs, leaning away to make eye contact without craning his neck so much.

“If I knew where the Dwemer went, I’d be... probably the most famous person in Tamriel.”

“They... How does an entire race of people end up gone? Where did they  _ go _ ?” He's fairly certain he _ is _ being messed with, now. The Dwemer had had an empire. Where could they have gotten to? And how did nobody knew where they were?

Falkar shrugs again and starts rolling up the map. 

“The stories say that they started messing with some hugely powerful Daedric... thing, and it somehow went wrong. Some say they went to Aetherius, some say they just vanished.” Miraak sighs. Suddenly it makes sense. Only a Daedric prince could have done something so cataclysmic and stupid sounding.

“If you find a copy of that confusing book again, I'd like to read it,” he tells Falkar. “Confusing old religious texts are sort of a specialty of mine.” 

Falkar smiles and promises he'll keep an eye out. He spends the rest of the journey explaining the situation in Skyrim. Miraak follows maybe half of it. At its core, the war seems to be half religious, half political. He grumbles about the Talos situation to himself. He tries to make himself a Dragonborn King, and gets locked in Oblivion for thousands of years. This Tiber Septim does the same thing, and he becomes a Divine. Miraak would be a liar if he claimed to not be jealous.

Slowly, a dark shape forms on the horizon, then resolves itself into the cliffs of Skyrim, then the harbor and dark stone walls of what must be Windhelm. The crew pulls them into harbor. 

Falkar springs to his feet, hugging himself under the poncho and bouncing from one foot to another. Miraak finds it endearing, like a bird with its feathers puffed up against the cold. Falkar leads him along the docks, through narrow streets lined with dark stones and the elves he now knows are called Dunmer. They look tired and harried, here, more so than the ambient working town tiredness that he'd seen in Raven Rock.

Falkar stops suddenly, and Miraak nearly bowls him over, having to brace himself and grab Falkar around the waist to keep them from both toppling over in the street.

“O-Oh, sorry,” he says, turning around and blushing, his face already a little pink from the cold. Miraak carefully releases him.

“It’s justー Do you need supplies, or, or weapons, or something?” He gestures to a shop they’ve almost passed. Miraak thinks for a moment, then nods. He's not sure that he can still summon the weapons that Hermaeus Mora gifted him; he's not sure he'd want to.

A few minutes and some small talk later, Miraak is the proud owner a nice solid steel sword that hangs heavy at his hip. Corporeal, and entirely his. He has a sudden moment of realization. He’s filled with the sort of bubbling excitement he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

On solid land, away from Solstheim, it's finally hit him that he's free. 

There’s nothing forcing him to stay with Falkar. Of course, Falkar is his only bet at finishing the bizarre task that Hermaeus Mora has set for them, but he  _ could _ walk away. All of Tamriel is at his feet. But....the sword is more, too. Everything Hermaeus Mora had given Miraak had been at a price. Power for service. Falkar had happily offered him the sword, and then allowed Miraak to walk at his back out of the city. Miraak worries loose the dead skin on the inside of his lips as he tries to piece together what Falkar’s angle is.

Whatever Falkar’s goal is, Miraak at least seems to have found himself in indulgent and enjoyable company, back in the right realm, the right country. The sun is shining, and he’s properly armed. All things considered, he’s doing quite alright for himself.

He’ll make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments! It means so, so much to me. And thanks for putting up with me while my laptop was broken!
> 
> EDIT: Those of you with eagle eyes may have noticed the addition of the intersex tag-- don't worry, I'm not going to up the rating for this, I'll put any proper NSFW content in separate fics. However, it is a Thing That Will Be Talked About, specifically with regards to Bosmer culture and all their plant stuff, although it will probably be brief. Just figured I'd give y'all a heads up!
> 
> EDITING AGAIN: Man, am I all over the place. I like doing little mod showcases, and totally forgot to do it for this chapter! The mod I first thought of with this chapter are the Salt and Wind Retextures, for both KS Hairdos and ApachiiSkyHair: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/16582 and https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/16909 Ahhhh. Fancy hair without the shiny shampoo commercial texture. Delightful.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh, cubes. They'll be explained eventually. You don't even have to play Project AHO, because I will explain to you, in excruciating detail, how I wanted it to go. This is who I am.
> 
> Project AHO: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/15996  
> Miraak Follower: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/3005 (note: I do not use the face in this mod, I created my own version of his appearance that I felt was more appropriate.)  
> Miraak's Face (as seen in my game): https://78.media.tumblr.com/e8dce2888c72e9fe42346c3cb2ae8721/tumblr_p7rszi7oeQ1r3rm0do2_1280.png  
> My tumblr: littlebluecaboose.tumblr.com
> 
> Drop me a line if you wanna chat!


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